Time and Time Again
by MeltyKiss
Summary: Rentfic - a different take on Roger and Mimi meeting for the first time


He sat at the bar, chin propped up against his right palm. A lit cigarette protruded from outstretched fingers, smoke from its lit butt rising upwards and clouding the air. His other arm hung down towards the floor, feet were spread forward, braced against the counter. There was some sort of sports game going on, fleeting and dizzying images of colored jerseys and harried referees being projected from the cameras onto the tv monitors, but he wasn't paying attention to it. 

Yelling outside, some remnants of a song by an alternative rock band coming from the speakers, the sound of sirens as they made their way down the dingy one-way streets that characterized the area. He swallowed, pushing himself back from his slouched position, and took another drag of his cigarette. The exhaled smoke floated gently around him, like a fine gray mist settling on his clothes and hair.

You stink...why don't you take a shower?

I did...and I left the window open, but I needed one before I went to bed, Mark

He remembered the days when the sirens used to haunt him, and then the days when they used to be his savior, coming to rescue him from another overdose or suicide attempt. His free hand came up and brushed blonde-streaked hair back from his long chiseled face. Grungy and brooding, anywhere else he could have passed for a model, a salesman or a successful boyfriend in a long relationship.

In Alphabet City, he was a musician with a recovering drug addiction and a fondness of Marlboro Lights.

What's the plan for today?

A gig at CBGB's at 11

Because we ALWAYS play there...when are we gonna be that breakout band you told us we were gonna be, Davis?

He had left school at an early age to be that breakout alternative band. The people he listened to as a child, the people he modeled the lyrics of his first song after. But after countless gigs and bouts of depression, they couldn't seem to be that breakout band. They weren't edgy enough, weren't "advanced" enough, and Alphabet City already had too many breakout bands trying to make it in the music world. It was hard to go to gigs of his friends and watch them play to great reception, but it was harder to pass by places like The Bitter End, look at their posted list of upcoming shows and note with disdain that his band was not among those that would be featured players this week...this month...this year. He used to laugh at those who said someday the club scene was going to depress him, and now, it wasn't far from the truth.

So Roger Davis sat in a bar on the corner of 8th Ave and 12th Street, the dingy slums of an otherwise magical world called New York City, smoking a cigarette and tapping his foot against the beer-stained floor while the bartender brought him another shot of vodka. He listlessly watched the scene around him, wondering how he ever got here, and almost missed her walking through the door.

She was stick-thin - it was the first thing he noticed as she took a seat next to him, crossing her legs and leaning over the counter, her tight tube top and leather pants almost contorting to fit her figure. Her fingers, equally long and narrow, drummed themselves on the surface of the table while her eyes, big and dark, blinked rapidly. Her hair, a messy disarray of tight curls dark brown and bleached blonde, framed her small but narrow face and fell halfway down her back.

He watched, entranced, as she downed her drink, and then without more than a word, raised her hands in a gesture that clearly meant, "give me another shot before I make you pay." She turned, flipping her hair over her shoulders in one brief movement, and captured his glance. Embarrassed to have been caught staring noticeably, he quickly looked away.

"The first thing I ever learned about a guy is that whenever they do that, they're completely guilty of whatever they were staring at."

Her voice, rough and hoarse and yet somehow so incredibly sexy caught him off-guard and he looked up in surprise. She nodded towards his hand. "Mind?"

Half-drunk, it took a moment for him to focus on what she was saying before he finally caught on and handed her what was left of his cigarette. She finished it off quickly, tossing the butt onto the floor, skillfully crushing it with the heel of her dark boots, and he stared almost in awe at the way she moved. It was so smooth, yet somehow, so daring and edgy.

"Are you a dancer?"

He didn't know where the words came from, and the moment he said them, he mentally slapped himself. A fitting way to start the conversation, indeed. Bo-ring.

Then again, he WAS half-drunk.

"Sometimes." She broke into a slight smile. "You've seen me?"

He stared at her face, knowing full well that even in his drunken stupor he would have seen someone like her before and remembered it. He shook his head slowly. She nodded as she took her fresh drink from the bartender. "Too bad. I'm pretty good...but I guess you'd have to see it to believe it." 

He laughed then, a hoarse chuckle that turned into a minor cough, and she raised her eyebrows at him. Without a word, she took her half-empty glass and held it out and he accepted it gratefully. When there was not a drop to be left, he turned to her again, and she smiled, this time bigger than before.

"Well, Mr. Rockstar, I do believe we're even now....next time, we'll have to trade each other a dinner," she teased. At her words, he looked up sharply, knitting his eyebrows in curiosity.

"You've seen me?"

"Oh yes....the man that plays in that rock band, right? Of course I've seen you...you guys play everywhere. You're talented, you know...you should play more."

He grunted. "If more people LET us play. We only play everywhere to get exposure, though that's not going too well as it is. Fucking management who thinks we're not "advanced" enough." He blew out a breath and swept his hair back from where it had fallen into his eyes.

"I take it that's why you're sitting here? You haven't moved for three hours, you know."

He blushed. "What are you, a little spy?"

She laughed. "I come here often myself after work, been doing that for a long time. It's a good little place for a bit of downtime."

He smiled. There was an awkward silence and he suddenly felt uncomfortable as he looked down at his empty shot glass again. He grabbed his packet of cigarettes off the table and pocketed his lighter, raising himself from the stool. "I should get going. Mark - my roommate - he expected me back awhile ago. I hate to worry him...I give him enough shit as it is."

She stood up quickly, almost matching his speed, and turned, half-blocking him. "The night is far from over...I was just about to ask if you wanted to come to my place and chill a bit. I have real alcohol, not this watered down cheap shit that we pay ten bucks a shot for."

He looked at her, surprised at the openness of her invitation. He hadn't seen an openness like that since April. "You're crazy..."

"No, you're crazy. Going home at 1 AM? Gimme a break...come on, I'll give you some real stuff. We'll talk. I bet you have a lot on your mind."

Not as much as you think, he thought warily. She inched closer to him, her dark eyes almost pleading, and he wondered how he could resist her. He found that "alright" slipped out easier than he thought it would.

She smiled - a real smile this time, one that lit up the darkness of her face - and stuck out her hand.

"Mimi Marquez."

"Roger....Davis."

For a moment, things seemed suddenly calm and quiet, in the midst of the loudness and chaos of the club. They stared for a moment, holding each other's gaze, and then Mimi turned and headed out the door. Roger followed, giving one last look behind him to the place where three hours earlier, he had drunken himself into depression.

How come you get all the girls, Mark?

Maybe because they like clean men, Roger

The night sky was warm and inviting, and enveloped him as he exited the club. He watched Mimi's movement's in front of him as he followed her down the street.

It was going to be another sleepless night, he was sure.

But somehow, he had a feeling that this night didn't seem like it was going to be quite as lonely.


End file.
